Guess Who's back?
by Holden-Thinks-You're-A-Phony
Summary: Guess who's not really dead? Foyet. Guess who had a psychopathic son? Foyet. Guess what happens when the team is back in Boston on a new case? You'll have to read to find out xD Thanks for reading this is my 1st story. Please leave reviews.
1. Prologue

Prologue 

Danny Ivy held on to his aluminum bat tightly. His 'father', Bert, would be home any minute now. The abusive drunk of a foster father would be no match for him, he was sure. It was time to put an end to this man's existence once and for all just as he had done to Mr. Barker, and the mailman, and that stupid boy from down the street.

The door burst open.

"Outta my way, kid." Boomed Bert McFarley, as he made a beeline for the stairs. Danny looked up into his face. He was a large man with greasy ginger hair and an awful mustache. It was clear to Danny that Bert was very, very drunk.

"I said outta the way, you deaf little shit!" he slurred. Danny moved aside and stared at him intently as walked up the stairs. It had been three weeks with this man, and that was three weeks too many. As he followed him up the stairs, Danny could feel the anticipation growing in his gut. When he reached the top of the stairs, Bert turned to close his bedroom door, but Danny held out his hand to stop it.

"The fuck do you think you are doing?"

"Sit down on the bed." Said Danny calmly.

"And just what makes you think I'll do that?"

"This." He said. He pulled out his pocketknife from the pocket of the oversized sweatshirt and stabbed it into Bert's gut, but not hard enough to kill him, not yet anyway. Danny exhaled deeply. Bert fell backward, missing the bed, and landing with a thump on to the floor. Blood gushed from his stomach, his face a mixture of pain and utter shock…but mostly, pain.

"Uh-nuh." Said Bert trying to make words come out of his mouth. He also made a couple of feeble moaning noises. Danny showed no emotion and simply stabbed him again in the ear.

"Who's the deaf little shit now?" he whispered coldly.

He bent down to pick up his bat. He slammed it down hard on the bleeding man's head. Then again, and again, and progressively he began hitting harder, every time making a sick, crunching sound with each brutal hit. He exhaled deeply again. He put the bat down and checked Bert's pulse. It was there, but just barely. He lifted his foot and slammed it down on the man's head. The special cleats he had sharpened himself with a razor blade, left terrible holes in the flesh of his face. He did one last thing before the cops showed up. When he was done, he called the police. When they showed up he told them a man had broken into the house and killed his 'Daddy'. They didn't take him in for questioning or even consider him to be a suspect because who, after all, would expect an angle-faced, blonde haired, 11 year old boy to kill his own foster father.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Four victims." Said Agent Jennifer Jareau, as she pointed to four pictures of four highly mutilated bodies. "Mickey Barker, sixth grade elementary school teacher, killed on his lunch break, in an alley. Mailman Steven Carter Murdered in an alleyway on his mail delivery route. Tommy Frier, age 12, killed behind his house. And most recently, Bert McFarley killed in his own home. All four were killed in broad daylight and suffered blood force trauma wounds to the head, which was the cause of death. Authorities say it was done with something like a baseball bat. All four had stab-wounds inflicted, and strange holes in the flesh of their face. There were no witnesses. All took place within the city of Boston" She sighed and looked up at her team. Derrick Morgan glanced up at her and then looked down long and hard at the file in his hand, which contained the photos of the bodies. He let out a long, slow whistle and said,

"Well, that is some majorover-kill."

"Can't argue with that." Said Emily Prentiss, frowning as she bent one of the corners of her paper.

"This unsub looks very immature and disorganized. The patterns in the holes of the flesh seem to resemble…" Spencer Reid said as he traced the holes with his finger along the smooth surface of the photo. "Soccer cleats."

"Yeah, kid," said Morgan "But, no soccer cleat can do that to someone's face."

"I'm merely suggesting that the unsub may have made his own adjustments to them." Said Reid staring at the photo intently.

"Well, you can get a better look at the bodies once we're there." Said Aaron Hotchner.

"I agree." Said David Rossi. "Let's go."

_Boston._ Hotch thought sadly to himself. The last time he had been there, he had been trying to capture his arch nemesis, George Foyet, the man who had once been called The Boston Reaper. Foyet had successfully killed several people, and had evaded capture for ten years. Once he was finally arrested, he had escaped from prison, and then proceeded to endanger his only son, and kill Hotch's ex wife, Hayley. But, Foyet was dead now. Hotch himself had killed him. There was nothing worry about any longer. So then why did Hotch have an awful, awful feeling in his gut?


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Danny had been transferred. Again. Shipped off to another home, like a piece of meat. They had kept him one day to do some psychological evaluations, and he had made sure he'd passed with flying colors. He had even made himself cry and hug the psychiatrist, telling him that he missed Bert a lot. No one would suspect him of murder, now. In the new home where he was, there was a little foster girl, a teenage foster boy, and a 'father'. It was obvious to Danny that he was only there for the paycheck, and after getting very feed up with the new father, who had hit him, Danny had fled the house.

Danny hated the city of Boston, but that where he always ended up. As far as he could remember he'd only been in foster home after foster home. Twenty-nine foster homes, to be exact. The only thing that he knew of his parents was a birth certificate. Just two names, like needles in a needle stack. He didn't care about his parents anymore, or wanted to find them. He had been so angered by the fact that they gave him up, he refused to call himself by the last name on the birth certificate. He just went by the last name, Ivy, which was really his middle name.

He had run five straight blocks, and finally reached town. He had hidden his bat in the front of the house in a bush, and ran without looking back. He had lived in house not far from this one six months ago or maybe, it was nine…he couldn't remember. He wandered around until finally, he reached the edge of town. A small store, with a large going out of business caught his eye. 'Harold's Hunting Place' He remembered this place; this was where he got his knife. He'd stolen it when the shopkeeper's back was turned.

Inside the shop it was warm. It was near closing time, and there was only one other customer inside. Danny headed straight to the glass case with knives inside of it. He stared at them, trying to imagine how it would feel to hold each one in turn. How it would feel to stab someone with them. He let a smile cross his usually serious face. He could hear the shopkeeper bustling about in the back, out of sight. Maybe, if he could just pick the lock…But then, he felt something poke into the back of his neck.

"Don't move, kid." He heard a man's voice whisper in his ear. Danny swallowed hard, and realized what was poking into his neck. It was the barrel of a gun.


	4. Chapter 3

Yani: Hi everyone. Thanks so much for reading! Please leave some reviews so I can hear your feedback. If you have any thoughts about the direction of the story or where you want it to go, just tell me (though I do have a plan). If you have any fanfics of your own you want me to read, just let me know . Reviews would be great! Thanks and enjoy!

Chapter 3

"Don't move kid." Said the man with the gun to Danny's neck. "I mean it."

Danny did not move. Danny did not say a word, either. What Danny was doing, was trying to figure a way out of this. He looked around. There were no security cameras in sight and it was nearly dark out. That was not good. Just then the shopkeeper emerged from the back.

"Hey!" he yelled. "What do you think-" BANG! The man had removed the gun from Danny's neck and shot the shopkeeper in the head. He fell to the floor, and Danny could tell he was dead before he had even hit the ground. Danny took this moment as an opportunity to act. Quickly, he grabbed the knife from his pocket and made a motion to stab the man, but he noticed, and pulled the knife from Danny's hands. _Damn._

"Nice try." Said the man. "I'll give you that. Now go sit against the wall." The man turned and pointed the gun right at Danny as he went to sit at the wall. As he slouched down, Danny got a good look at his soon-to-be-killer. He was older, maybe in his late forties or fifties. He was wearing a black hoodie with the hood up over his head. He was wearing sunglasses and had short grey hair. And he was smiling, but then he stared at Danny and let his mouth hang open slightly.

"What are you staring at?" said Danny, making his voice sound bored, and not fearful. Fearful was not the way to go.

"Nothing." Said the man, though it didn't sound like it. He made a move to pull the trigger.

"Can I just ask you-?" said Danny quickly, in an effort to stall. "Can I ask you one thing before you kill me?"

"Fire away." Said the man smiling at the poor pun he had made. No seemed to have heard the gunshot, and Danny was slowly panicking. He didn't believe in god, but maybe it was karma trying to punish him for the wrong he had done. He drew in a quick breath and said,

"Look, I think I get you."

"Do you?" he said smiling. "Let's hear it, kid, I got all the time in the world. Tell me about me."

"You've got to kill people. It feels good doesn't it? You like watching them die, right? Watching the fear in their eyes. Watching them bleed. That's the best part, isn't it? It is for me, anyway. So if you wanna kill me, I mean, go ahead, you're the one with the gun pointed at my head. But here's what I don't get: Why would you kill me with a gun?"

"What's wrong with a gun?" he said amused. "Are you saying _you've _actually killed someone?"

"Well," said Danny, eyes locked on the man's eyes, even though he couldn't see them. "I've killed four people. But, what's wrong with a gun? I thought it'd be obvious. It's too easy. One shot and they're dead. Gone. I prefer bats, or knives, or strangulation. It makes it last longer." He smiled darkly.

"You know what?" the man said, "You're right. That's why I have this." He pulled a long knife out of his pocket. He twirled it around in his hand menacingly.

"Oh." Said Danny. He was out of things to say. And he was going to die. He. Was. Going, To. Die. "Well, how many people have you killed with that thing? It's spotless." He had managed to keep his voice level. _Good, good, keep him talking._

"None yet, it's brand new. Just for you." The man smiled. He started to move closer to Danny. "Why are you so calm, kid? Usually people beg for their lives at this point. Maybe you want a demonstration of what I'm going to do to you?"

"Actually that's really okay." Said Danny panic seeping into his voice.

"Tell me, kid…what did you say your name was?"

"I-I didn't. It's Daniel Ivy Foyet. That's my full name, but I go by Danny Ivy."

"You're joking."

"Why would I joke about it, especially with a gun and a knife pointed at me?"

"I knew you looked familiar, you…you look like…"

"What are you talking about?"

"Does the name 'George Foyet' mean anything to you?"

"You mean The Boston Reaper?" Danny's face lit up. "He was so cool. I followed all of his murders on the news. I always thought maybe he was my…It was a shame when he died."

"He's _not dead_." Said the man, stabbing the ground, lashing out in sudden anger. Danny moved as close to the wall as was humanly possible. "I am George Foyet."-stab- "I am the Boston Reaper."-stab- "And I think," his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You, are my son."


	5. Chapter 4

Yani: Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long. I've been super, super busy with school lately. I would love any feedback you have or any requests for criminal minds fan-fics (I'll write anything if you ask) :D. Reviews please and don't be shy to message me! Thanks so much for reading & enjoy

Chapter 4

Hotch shivered in the cold. It was really only one of the first cold days of the year and he had not been prepared for it. The team had arrived in Boston and got right down to business. Reid and Morgan had gone to take a look at the bodies, while JJ and Rossi went to look in the house of Bert McFarley, the most recently murdered. That left Hotch and Prentiss to interview the neighbors of McFarley, an elderly couple, who lived next door. The two of them were at home during the approximate time of the murder, and Hotch hoped they had some answers.

Prentiss knocked on the front door, and a little old lady came and answered it.

"Hello, are you Carol Feldman? My name is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, and this is Emily Prentiss and we're with the FBI. " said Hotch, as he held up his badge. Carol Feldman looked up into his face in surprise.

"Oh, yes, that's me. Please come in." she said, as she lead Hotch and Prentiss inside and into a small living room. "Would you like some tea?" she asked, and then yelled, "MORDY! The FBI is here!"

An elderly man walked down the stairs, and entered the living room.

"Hello." He said. "May I ask what business you have in my home?"

"Yes, sir." Said Prentiss. "I'm Agent Prentiss, and this is Agent Hotchner. We're here to question you about the murder of Bert McFarley."

"Oh, but the police have already questioned us." Said Mrs. Feldman.

"We're aware, Mrs. Feldman, but we feel there maybe some details that might have been missed." She replied.

"What was Bert McFarley like?" asked Hotch. "How would you describe him?"

"He was a no good, son-of-a-gun, drunk." Said Mr. Feldman.

"Dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Feldman.

"It's true." Said Mr. Feldman, leaning forward in his chair. "He lived in that house for a few months, and he was always taking in foster children that he could not take care of!"

"We read in the report that a child was the one that found the body. Can you tell us about him?" Said Prentiss.

"Well he was a funny boy." Said Mrs. Feldman. "He was only here for two weeks or so. We would always see him in the backyard with his little baseball bat and glove. He was very polite, I invited him over for tea one day, remember Mordy?"

"Yeah," said Mr. Feldman "He wouldn't really talk much. I asked him about his bat and what his favorite team was, and he said he didn't actually watch baseball much. I found that odd considering how devoted he was to his baseball gear. Can't really blame him for being odd, though. He told us that had been in 28 foster homes before the one he was in. He was a pretty scarred."

There was a silence, which Hotch decided to break.

"Anything else about him…anything at all?"

"The screaming!" recalled Mrs. Feldman.

"Screaming, ma'am?" asked Emily in a concerned voice.

"Well, we would hear screaming coming from their house often. It was the boy you see, and when we asked him about it, he told us that he had awful night nightmares."

"We were thinking about calling CPS, but we had no real reason to think that anything bad was happening." Said Mr. Feldman solemnly.

"I see." Said Hotch. "What was the boy's name, again?" he murmured to Prentiss.

"Daniel Ivy." Said Prentiss.

"Well, he told us on one occasion that Ivy was actually his middle name." said Mrs. Feldman. "What was his real last name, Mordy?"

"Er, it was…Foyer or something. Foyin…"

Hotch had a horrible feeling, creeping up into his gut. It sounded eerily like…

"Oh, I remember now. It was Foyet."

Hotch coughed violently and spit out some of the coffee he was sipping.

"Oh, dear." Chirped Mrs. Feldman. "All you alright, Agent?"

Hotch nodded through his fit of coughs. Prentiss awkwardly patted his back, in a feeble effort to stop the coughing. When it stopped Hotch said,

"Thank you so much for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Feldman. I think we'll be going."

"But Hotch," said Prentiss.

"Now. Going now." He said firmly.

The two exited after Hotch profusely apologized for the coughing. He flipped out his phone, and put it to his ear.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Prentiss angrily, following Hotch toward the direction of the car, the cold air blowing into their faces.

"Calling Garcia." Said Hotch, agitatedly.

"Hotch I know what you're thinking but just because his last name is Foyet-"

"But nothing, Emily. The Foyet kid had a baseball bat, which was most likely what killed all four victims. If McFarley was abusing him…don't you think that's a basis for investigation?"

"You're over-reacting. That proves nothing. You're being paranoid, Hotch. Lots of little boys have baseball bats."

"He was the one who found the body. He could have-"

"He passed the Psych Eval, Aaron. He's probably just a sad, scared little kid, who walked in at the wrong time."

Hotch knew he was loosing this battle and knew he was being reckless. But he also knew that he couldn't shake the feeling of something being horribly off.

"I'm calling her, Emily."

"Fine." She said. The truth was she was starting to think maybe, just maybe, Hotch had a point. After all, who could forget the kid unsubs they had found, one of which had shoved model airplane parts down his brother's throat. She shuddered at the memory.

Hotch took out his phone again.

"Garcia, get me everything you can on Dainel Ivy Foyet."


	6. Chapter 5

Yani: Hey guys. Thanks for reading this far. There is so much more to come. I feel so creepy when I write this lol. Ok you know the drill: please leave reviews. It really helps! Honestly it's the only sort of feedback I can get so it really means a lot. Alright. Enjoy!

Chapter 5

"What?" said Danny hoarsely. "Y-you think you're my father?" This could not be right. This was certainly not Star Wars, after all. But the more he stared at the man who claimed to be George Foyet, the more he understood the man was completely serious. "How could you be alive? You were killed by an FBI agent."

The man snorted.

"Come on, Danny-boy." He smirked "You said you said you followed me in the news. Did you happen to skip the part that said the car carrying my body drove of a cliff, and my body was never found?" This was true, his body _had_ never been found… He wasn't sure what to say to that.

"What makes you think you're my Dad?" He asked quietly.

"Well, you happen to look exactly like I did when I was say, ten." Danny swallowed. "And I'm sure you've realized we have the same last name by now. But, most importantly about eleven years ago, I was with a girl. What was her name…Sandra Ivy, yes?" Danny nodded. That was the name on his birth certificate. "She became pregnant and I left her. She died during childbirth. And that's the story. Now I have a deal for you: I can tell you're a lot like me. And I came back to finish off a certain FBI agent who I believe is here, investigating a case. Now, you can help me terminate him, or I can kill you." He finished with a nasty smile.

"Wha-what do you want me to do?" asked Danny, eyes wide.

"Good choice." Said Foyet, smiling all the while. "You say you're a killer? Prove it. The guy who owns this shop isn't dead, not quite. Stab him for me." Danny nodded.

"Okay, how?" he asked eagerly. He wanted to prove himself, and this was the best way he knew how.

"Here." Said Foyet, tossing him his knife. "If you try anything, I've got this gun pointed straight at the back of your head."

"Yeah, yeah." Said Danny. He was excited, the familiar feeling of anticipation growing stronger. He walked to the body of the man. He was gushing blood.

"Can you hear me? Tap for yes." he asked. The man tapped his finger on the ground, feebly.

"Excellent, now you can listen to me carve you like a pumpkin." The man's eyes widened in terror as Danny pulled out the knife. "Happy Halloween." He stabbed the man repeatedly until the man was clearly dead. Then Danny stomped on the man's face with his razor-cleats. He looked up at Foyet.

"Believe me now?"

Foyet smiled.

"Alright, kid. It's time we go and talk to one Agent Aaron Hotchner."

And the two, father and son, walked out into the cool, clear, night ahead.


	7. Chapter 6

Yani: Hey all! I actually know exactly how this is going to end, I just have to write it out lol. Okay, please let me know if you have any suggestions or critics by leaving a review bellow :D If you have written any fics yourselves that you want me to check out, please let me know! Enjoy!

Chapter 6

"Garcia, did you hear me?" Hotch asked into his phone, which was on speaker. Emily was in the passenger seat, as Hotch himself drove.

"Yes, sorry sir, I'm on it," said Garcia as she typed away. "Alright, Daniel Ivy Foyet, eleven years old, born in Boston to a mother Sandra Ivy and father…omg."

"What Garcia?" He said in barely a whisper. His stomach clenched as he dreaded the answer. "G. Foyet. That's in the father space." Hotch swallowed.

"Anyway…it says here he's lived in, oh my goodness, twenty nine foster homes in the past eleven years. His mother died in childbirth and the father…nothing, nothing about him at all. Daniel was taken to do some testing when he was nine, and…has a genius I.Q. of 158. After the murder he was taken to have a psych eval done on him, and he passed, might I say, beautifully. Why are we asking?"

"Hotch wanted to know." Said Prentiss, as she leaned toward the phone. "He thinks that because of his last name-"

"I think I have a legitimate theory." He snapped, as he turned to Emily. "How did we not know Foyet had a son?"

"We still don't know!" exclaimed Prentiss, looking at Hotch. "And even if they are related doesn't mean they have anything in common! They probably wouldn't have ever even met! You're. Not. Thinking. Straight. Aaron." He looked a little hurt, after those last five words. She hated it when they fought, and she knew he did too. He stared at her for a moment, and then spoke in a gruff tone.

"Garcia, I want you to cross-reference Daniel Foyet's name with those murdered. See if you can find any connections at all."

"Alrighty..." there were a few moments of silence and the sounds of typing. "Ok, I just found something! Daniel Foyet was in Mickey Barker's sixth grade class, and he lived two blocks away from Tommy Frier in one of his foster homes. The mailman's route was one that passed by another one of his foster homes."

"Like father, like son." whispered Hotch. "If he's a genius he could easily tricked his way into passing the psych eval."

"There's no conclusive evidence…" said Prentiss, but she didn't sound very sure of herself.

"And sir," said Garcia, swallowing hard. "As you know, I've been keeping up with the local news, to look out for any new murders and such, and one just came up that fits the criteria. I'm looking at the security footage now, and there's a boy that looks a lot like Daniel Foyet in there. There's another man and he shoots the store clerk, and he makes the boy sit in the corner. Then they talk (I can't hear what they're saying because there's no sound)." Garcia's voice was speeding up as she talked. "And he has the gun pointed at the boy. Then the man takes out knife, and then…he just gives it to the boy. I can't see what the boy does to the store clerk because he goes behind a counter but I can tell it isn't pretty. Then the two of them leave together…It doesn't make any sense. And then they exit and I can't see anything else. But Hotch, Oh, Hotch," said Garcia, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"What Garcia?" said Hotch breathlessly.

"In the police report," she began. "There's a picture they took of the window outside of the shop and…and."

"Spit it _out_, Garcia." Said Hotch.

"On the window, there's a note written in blood. It says 'I'm back, Aaron. No more deals.' And it has two eyes of providence drawn in blood."

"Two?" asked Prentiss

"One for him, and one for his son." Said Hotch through gritted teeth.

"I texted you the address." Whispered Garcia.

"Let's go."


	8. Chapter 7

Yani: Sorry for the wait guys, I've been busy and sick lately. I hope you've been enjoying the story. Please, please, please leave reviews! Enjoy:

Chapter 7

Danny leaned back in his seat. The cool night air blew into his face. He and Foyet were in a car driving…somewhere. He hadn't really questioned where, considering he had just murdered someone, and didn't want to get caught at the scene. They had been driving for several hours now.

Foyet turned to Danny.

"There's blood on your sweatshirt."

"I know." Said Danny. "It's a white sweatshirt, so I can bleach it later."

"If we get pulled over there is no later. Take it off."

"I-I can't."

"Take it _off_." He growled.

"I…fine." Danny pulled off the sweatshirt. He was wearing a short sleeve tee shirt, which let his arms show. Foyet stared.

"How'd you get that scar, Danny-boy?" asked Foyet, the tone of his voice changing from full of malice, to velvety interest. Danny grimaced. The long scar on his left arm was his biggest insecurity.

"When I was ten," he began. "I was living in a boy's home. I got into a fight with a boy named Tommy Frier. He took a knife and cut open my arm. I cut up his face, but not so bad. No one was home at the time, so we lied and didn't tell anyone how our injuries happened. The person in charge of me refused to take me to a hospital or a doctor, so I looked up how to stitch up my arm and did it myself. A few months later we both left the place, and I went and tracked Tommy down, and… I killed him." He laughed nervously.

It was odd to discuss killing someone out loud. Come to think of it, he'd never done it before. The more he thought about it, the more absurd he realized it was. And the more absurd he realized it was, the more it dawned on him that he was crazy. He was actually crazy. He had killed five people. _Five._ And he felt nothing…nothing. No remorse…none at all. But, what did that mean? Actually, he thought he knew what it meant. He was a textbook psychopath. He was sick, and the irony of it was he was only realizing it now. Foyet broke his thoughts.

"Those are some impressive stitches for someone who never went to medical school, kid. How did you manage to do that?" Danny looked up.

"I-I don't know." He said. "I don't really like to talk about my arm."

"Don't worry about it. Look." Said Foyet. He lifted up his shirt. There were tons of scars running up and down the flesh of his stomach.

"Whoa." Said Danny. "How did you get those?" Foyet smiled.

"I did them to myself. That's how I the feds off my case."

"Genius." Said Danny. Foyet grinned broadly. "Can I ask where we're going?"

"Confidential."

"Oh."

"But," said Foyet. "If you casually turn your head behind you, you'll see that we're being followed." Danny looked behind him.

"I don't see anything and how did they find us?"

"You don't see anything because you're not supposed to. I have no clue how they found us." Danny turned to look behind him again.

"Hey!" said Foyet. "Stop looking. Listen, I need you to do something for me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to jump out of the car."

"W-what?"

"Just listen. I need you to jump out of this car. Then, the agents in the car following us are going to bring you into custody because they suspect you of the murders."  
>"How do you know that?"<p>

"Because I bugged the crime scene!"

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now shut up and listen to me." Danny fell silent. "We're only a 20 minutes away from Quantico, and I can take this exit coming up and get away if you distract them."

"Why would I let them take me into custody and why would I willingly jump out of a moving car?" hissed Danny.

"Because you don't have a choice." Said Foyet as he picked up Danny and threw him out the passenger seat. It happened so quickly that Danny barely registered what had happened. He went flying and hit the ground hard. The car behind him screeched to a stop and he heard someone get out and say,

"FBI!"

As far as he could tell he wasn't hurt. Even his bad arm only ached a little. He looked up to see a man with a shiny bald head pointing a gun straight at him. A woman with brown hair emerged from the car. She too, pointed a gun at him, as the bald, black man handcuffed him.

"You are under arrest for five counts of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will be held against you…" as the man continued to tell Danny his rights, Danny's vision blurred, and then everything went black.


	9. Chapter 8

Yani: Hey all! Please leave reviews! Thanks

Chapter 8

Danny woke slowly. His head was aching and his bad arm was hurting pretty badly. Maybe it was because it was handcuffed to the table he was sitting at. He looked down. The table was nailed to the floor. Why was he in a room with a nailed-to-the-floor-table and a large mirror? And then it all came flooding back. Foyet, the car, being thrown out of it, and the FBI.

He looked around. There were no windows, a large panel mirror, the chair he was sitting in, a table and another chair opposite his. He was in an interrogation room, he concluded, and an agent must have carried him in here after he passed out.

Behind the mirror, which was really a one-way mirror, Aaron Hotchner stared at the boy who was supposed to have killed five people. After the whole team had ended up at the crime scene, they had looked at the footage again they had a confirmed I.D. on the boy and on George Foyet. Hotch had sent marshals to protect Jack and his aunt, Jessica, but…but Foyet had gotten past marshals before. How had he even lived? But, that wasn't what he needed to focus on now. They were lucky they had found the two at all. After they had gotten into the car, they had followed a trail of witnesses and security cameras in order to catch up with the car. That was certainly not like Foyet, to be so unorganized, and throwing the kid out of the car?

Then there was the matter of interrogating the boy. Hotch looked at Danny long, and hard. He looked as if he was in a lot of pain. The boy was 11, only five years older than Jack for crying out loud. How could he have possibly killed all of those people? But he knew the answer all too well. The boy was a sociopath, and a smart one at that.

"Hotch?" asked Morgan. Hotch looked up. "Rossi and I are going to interrogate him now. We need a confession out of him, or else we can't hold him much longer."

"Yes, of course." Said Hotch, distractedly. "I'll be here, and remember he's probably a lot smarter than your average kid."

"Right." Said Rossi. "Let's go in."

The two walked into the interrogation room. Rossi took the chair across from Danny and Morgan stood next to Rossi.

"Hi, Daniel." Said Rossi.

"Hi." He said. "Why am I here?"

"Aww cut the crap." Growled Morgan, slamming his hand on the table. Danny stared at the man.

"What crap?" he asked innocently. "That's a bad word, you know."

"You were in a car with a murderer! You killed a man on tape."

"I didn't kill him. That psycho man tried to make me, but I didn't. I faked it and I jumped out of the car to get away from him."

"We have it on tape!"

"There's no reason to yell, Morgan." Said Rossi.

"Yeah, Morgan." Said Danny sticking out his tongue. "Anyway, there were no security cameras positioned so that they could see behind the counter. I'm not sure which idiot decided that that was a smart decision, but…"

"Admit it!" yelled Morgan. "You killed five people!"

"I did not." Said Danny, in a deadly cold voice. "And you have no concrete evidence against me. Also, let me guess. You're the good cop-" he pointed to Rossi. "and you,-" he pointed to Morgan. "are the bad cop. Did you think I was born yesterday? And I also happen know that there's at least one other agent monitoring me from behind that mirror. So, if you think you're going to break me, you're going to have to try a lot harder than this."

"Anything else?" ask Rossi, through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, actually," Danny turned his head and stared right at Hotch through the mirror. "I want to speak to Agent Aaron Hotchner. Now."


End file.
